Ashes on the Wind
by Night Fox15
Summary: After Temari is killed on a mission, Kiba tries to help Shikamaru let go of her ghost. It's not so easy. ShikaKiba lemon, past ShikaTema. Yaoi. Canon verse; non-canonical character death. Birthday present for zamizu-me.


**Birthday present for zamizu-me. So, for your birthday, you get plot, death, ghosties (well, one), and a lemon.**

**Warnings: Yaoi and het pairings; explicit sexual content between males; non-canonical character death. ShikaKiba, ShikaTema.**

_**Notes**:_ the _yūrei_ are ghosts from Japanese folklore. A _yūrei_ is the spirit of someone who died, who a) died violently/in battle, b) hasn't been given proper funeral rites, or c) are influenced by emotions such as love, revenge, jealousy or sorrow. Kiba names a few examples within the story.

* * *

I

* * *

Gaara looked shattered. The shadows around his eyes were even deeper than before, even though Shukaku had been long since banished from his body. His skin was pale and greyish-looking, as if he would be blown away into little fragments if a wind blew.

He was Kazekage, one of the strongest shinobi Shikamaru had ever seen, but he looked like he was about to break. Contrasting this frailty, this vulnerability, his eyes were angry with the same pain Shikamaru had seen in them once so long ago, fighting Sasuke in the Chūnin exams.

Filled with the same pain, emotion that was bottled up into a hard little ball in Shikamaru's throat. He couldn't feel them; he just felt numb. Numb with his hurt, with disbelief, but somehow strangely disconnected from the emotions, like they weren't really there, like he wasn't really there.

They stood silently, together yet apart, each in his own state of turmoil, beside the bed with the still, lifeless body that, like Gaara, had seemed so strong.

So strong, until a fateful error, an error of his, Shikamaru's, had cost her her life.

The medics swarming the room had done everything they could to save her; _he_'d done everything he could do to save her. But nothing had worked. She was gone.

Temari was gone.

"_No!_" Gaara's face broke into a mask of sorrow, his voice raw and cracked and hoarse. The medics backed away, slowly, as innocuously as they could.

Shikamaru's chest was full of that same empty feeling in his heart, his gut twisted into horrible knots with grief, pain, and guilt. Yet nothing would come out, nothing that would relieve this numbness, unlock his joints from where he was stood frozen in the shadows.

"_Temari_!" Gaara's voice tearing out of his throat, repeating his sister's name over and over again was the last thing Shikamaru heard.

* * *

II

* * *

Shikamaru heard voices. Lots of voices, but he could only make out one, calling out Temari's name over and over again. The others muddled and faded with the echoes of Gaara's torment.

He reached up to touch his fingertips to his temples—his head was pounding.

And he was dropped back into unconsciousness again, the transition as sudden and pleasant as ice to fire.

* * *

III

* * *

Gaara and Shikamaru's scents reeked of their pain, so strong Kiba could taste it in the back of his throat, making him gag. Gaara smelt of anger, too, and Shikamaru of guilt. The taste was strong in his mouth, of the metallic-bitter tang of blood and bile, burning his tongue and the inside of his tongue.

He knew why Shikamaru felt guilty, even though it wasn't his fault—Kiba had been on one of the two teams assigned for this mission, had his own share of the blame. But it was Shikamaru who had led it, had come up with all the plans. He had been their strategist, and that seemed to mean that it fell on him to take all the blame for her death, even though no one could've prevented it.

And then Shikamaru had passed out. Kiba didn't know exactly why his body had just switched off like that, but it must've been some kind of coping mechanism, because one second Kiba was gagging from the agony pouring off him, and the next, there was nothing from him, like all those feelings had somehow evaporated.

Gaara had done nothing but call his sister's name again and again, but no one dared go in the room to help Shikamaru. The invisible thundercloud crackling over Gaara's head spread into the corners of the room, only ending at the shadows surrounding Shikamaru. No one wanted to disturb the Kazekage when he was like that, for fear of their lives.

When he looked up from Temari's body, his eyes showed his torment. His eyes had always held his pain—once the pain of never having been loved and knowing that he was to blame, now the pain of losing one that loved him, one that had really loved him, and knowing that he had been able to do nothing to stop it.

Naruto pushed past Kiba to go to Gaara. Probably he was the only person, save for Temari had she still been alive, that it would not become a suicide mission. He said something in a low voice, too low for Kiba to make out, touching Gaara's shoulder briefly in a gesture of comfort. Then he left, nodding to Kiba as he pushed past him again. The thundercloud receded, and Gaara's eyes calmed slightly.

Kiba wondered what Naruto had said to this effect even as he opened the door to retrieve the fallen boy.

* * *

IV

* * *

Shikamaru groaned and muttered something under his breath, stirring out from unconsciousness into sleep.

Kiba got up from his station next to Shikamaru's bed, satisfied now that he wasn't going to be in a coma for the rest of his life—though Hana had assured him that he'd be fine. Even despite his sister's reassurances he hadn't wanted to leave Shikamaru. Still didn't, but if he didn't get up soon he was gonna piss himself.

He took a last long look at the now-sleeping boy before leaving the room, Akamaru padding silently next to him.

When he came back, Shikamaru was awake.

He was sitting up, turned slightly to face Kiba's chair, but his eyes were still closed lightly, as if it pained him to open them fully. He ran his hands through his messy hair but made no comment.

Kiba took a hair tie out of his pocket and shot it at the other boy. He accepted it with a nod, opening his eyes slightly to tie his hair up in some semblance of his usual spiky ponytail.

"Why am I here?"

Kiba noted that he didn't ask where he was.

"Well, ya sorta passed out in…" he hesitated, unsure whether it would be quite tactful to talk about Temari dying. "…and well, Gaara looked like he was gonna kill someone."

"Can't say I blame him." He fell silent.

Kiba looked at him, but Shikamaru had turned away so all Kiba could see was in shadow.

Still, even if he couldn't see his expression, Kiba could tell that Shikamaru was beating himself up inside.

"Hey, man." Kiba reached over to grab Shikamaru's shoulder. "You can't just blame yourself. We're a team, right? That means that it couldn't just be you who fucked up."

"It's my job to take in account every possible outcome," Shikamaru said calmly, though Kiba knew he was anything but, even with Shikamaru's face still in shadow—he must've been doing something with the shadows, Kiba realized, it was the only explanation for how Kiba was so close to him yet still couldn't see his face.

So close…. For some reason that realization disconcerted him and he pulled his arm away.

It was the wrong thing to do. What Kiba could see of Shikamaru's face hardened, and Kiba realized that Shikamaru thought that he'd broken the contact so abruptly because he had changed his tune and was blaming him after all. An illogical assumption for such a smart person, but then it hadn't been a smart move on his behalf.

But what could he say now that he'd withdrawn from him so abruptly? "I'm sorry, it wasn't like that?" Then what was it? Kiba didn't know. He'd acted on impulse, as he was apt to do, and had ended up hurting his friend.

* * *

V

* * *

Shikamaru knew it was illogical, the hurt he had felt when Kiba pulled away from him like that. But his rationality seemed to have fled him when Temari had been killed.

So he lay back down and said nothing more.

After a long while, Kiba seemed convinced that he was asleep, which suited him fine. Until he actually fell asleep.

Then the dreams came. The replays of every event leading up to Temari's death.

And then, in the sleeping hours leading up to awakedness, Temari's voice cut through the fog of sleep and dreams.

"_Shikamaru._"

Goosebumps rose on his skin when she said his name.

"_Shikamaru._"

"Yes?"

"_Shikamaru…there's blood…whose blood is it, Shikamaru?_"

"It's yours, Temari. You're…"

"_I know I'm dead, Shikamaru. But why am I talking to you?_" Her voice rose and fell, so different from the calm woman she had always been.

But then, dying would do that, wouldn't it, if that voice was really her. No one wanted to die, and for most shinobi, death was the one thing they all feared, were all susceptible to, no matter what they did to prolong their lives.

Shinobi led dangerous lives, where an early death was almost a given, but this was the first time in his seventeen years that he had buried someone he loved, and it was on him. Despite what Kiba said, it was all on him.

"It wasn't your fault, Shikamaru." Not Temari, but a warm male voice as familiar to him as his own.

He snapped his eyes open—was he hearing more voices in his head, too? But no, his father sat on the chair next to his bed, the chair that Kiba had been in earlier.

"It's not your fault," Shikaku repeated.

Shikamaru turned over away from his father and tried to turn off his mind to go back to sleep.

Shikaku hadn't been there. He didn't know.

* * *

VI

* * *

Kiba sat in front of his house, waiting for Shikaku to come out. He'd asked Kiba to give him some alone time with his son, and Kiba wanted to think.

He wondered what had gone on between Shikamaru and Temari. He knew that Shikamaru had seen Temari a few times, but Shikamaru's reaction suggested that it had been more than just a casual fling.

But then, if there was anyone that could make the most serious relationship look casual to observers, it was Shikamaru.

Shinobi were supposed to be strong, and Shikamaru was no exception, but Kiba didn't envy him by any stretch. He'd recover quickly, and though he might always carry the weight of Temari's ghost upon his shoulders, it wouldn't incapacitate him. He'd live on, as cold as that sounded.

Finally, Shikaku came out. Kiba looked up at him as he stepped out the door and down past him.

Shikaku stopped and put a hand on Kiba's shoulder. "Thank you," he said simply. He didn't need to elaborate. Shikaku looked at him, the lazy, unhurried gaze reminiscent of his only son.

Finally, after somehow seeming to have read nothing and everything in Kiba's face, he left.

Kiba watched him disappear into the horizon, only going inside after Shikaku's silhouette was well and truly gone.

Shikamaru was sitting uncomfortably upright on the bed, his eyes loosely closed. Kiba watched him—it was almost like he was sleeping, with the same typical unresponsiveness, except that his body was so rigidly vertical that Kiba couldn't see how he possibly _could _be sleeping.

After a while there—too long—just watching the other boy, Kiba unstuck his feet from the floor and slowly left the room.

Until Shikamaru spoke.

"Kiba." Shikamaru's voice was hoarse, like he'd cried his throat raw earlier—though Kiba had never known Shikamaru to shed tears—and it cracked as he spoke.

Kiba stopped in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Stay."

And Kiba did stay. He stayed in his chair through the night.

* * *

VII

* * *

Shikamaru didn't know why he'd asked Kiba to stay with him.

Perhaps it was the hope that the presence of another human being would drive away ghost Temari. Perhaps it was friendship—heaven forbid he turned into Lee, though, ranting about the "joys of friendship" or whatever the fuck it was that he was always on about.

Shikamaru realized that he really didn't want to analyze this anymore, whatever "this" was—why he'd asked Kiba to stay with him, Temari's death, and that presence, Temari's presence in his mind.

But Kiba just being there, snoring softly in his chair, seemed to sooth him in a way he didn't truly understand.

And Kiba continued to sleep, oblivious to what was going on in Shikamaru's head.

* * *

VIII

* * *

Shikamaru didn't hear from Temari again the next day until, in the dusky area between dreams, her presence broke in.

"Temari…"

Goosebumps rose on his skin, the hairs on the back of his neck standing, though not in a bad way—it never could be bad with her. It was somehow erotic and comforting at the same time, Shikamaru realized. It hadn't been like this at all the last time; it hadn't possessed that same sexual charge to it.

"Temari…"

He felt so empty, despite her presence; he guessed that even though he still reached out to her, his rationale still told him that she wasn't really there. He could delude himself as much as he wanted, but it wouldn't make Temari suddenly materialize next to him, warm and soft and _alive_, her blond hair tickling his skin. Like that time he'd gone on some pointless C-ranked mission and she'd snuck along, and they'd had sex for the first time and held each other and kissed softly afterwards, like they weren't collecting wool for Tsunade on some boring Genin's mission and sleeping in a tent in the cold, but two civilian teens cuddling after their first time.

"Temari…"

She still hadn't spoken, but he could still feel her there in his mind.

But someone else said his name softly: "Shikamaru?" A slightly husky, male voice, not quite awake, and Shikamaru realized he'd spoken Temari's name aloud at some point for Kiba to wake up.

"It's…s'okay, Shikamaru," Kiba said sleepily. "Not your fault."

Shikamaru said nothing but closed his eyes again and watched the black and white film of Temari flickering across the back of his eyelids, like still photographs, aged and tear-stained, her presence there in his mind until, at last, just before sleep finally claimed him, she was gone.

* * *

IX

* * *

Shikamaru wasn't okay.

Somewhere down the line Kiba had realized this, that this thing wasn't going to just blow over and they weren't all going to live happily ever after as if nothing had ever happened.

Shikamaru didn't stay in bed all day anymore. Every morning before the sun came up, uncharacteristically early for him to wake up of his own free will, he left the house. At first Kiba wondered where he went, since no one else ever seemed to see him, but it was a pointless worry. He always came back, every night without fail after the sun went down with the smell of deer and forest upon him.

They shared no words except in the deep night, when Kiba woke to Shikamaru calling Temari's name, as he did every night. Sometimes a ragged, pain-filled cry, sometimes one hollow and empty and broken. And then sometimes, like tonight, a low moan, the sound hitting Kiba straight in the groan, despite it being another's name falling from Shikamaru's lips.

Kiba didn't think that Shikamaru was even aware of these nightly utterances, which only made it worse.

He got up as quietly as he could and padded over to the door. He wouldn't be giving his same nightly reassurances this night.

"Kiba?"

Kiba stood stock-still, resolve cracking as thrills ran up his spine and shot downwards into his groin.

And then Shikamaru said his name again and something snapped, and Kiba was kissing him, lips moving against Shikamaru's frantically, trying to convey something that even Kiba wasn't fully sure of.

Shikamaru wasn't pulling away. He was kissing him back, Kiba realized, and another thrill ran down his spine.

And then, just before the lack of oxygen made itself known in his chest, Shikamaru did pull away.

"Temari?"

And something cracked, splintered inside him at those three syllables. Shikamaru didn't even know it was him.

* * *

X

* * *

Shikamaru knew that he had hurt Kiba.

He had known it was Kiba all along, of course he had, and then Temari had made herself known: every time she did, she managed to elicit a response from him. Involuntary, unconsciously, as if she pushed him to do it.

But of course she hadn't. It was him, all him.

* * *

XI

* * *

Kiba had moved into the next room. He didn't think that Kiba could hear him from there; certainly he had heard nothing from Kiba.

He missed Kiba's presence in his room, he realized. But asking him to stay, to come back, wasn't going to do it after that night. Akamaru still stayed with him, whether at Kiba's request or of his own volition, but it wasn't the same. Wouldn't be the same even if the dog turned into a Kiba clone.

He found himself staying longer in his family's forest, staring up past the tree cover to the sky above with the deer grazing around him. But, between Temari's voice in his mind and Kiba in his thoughts, it wasn't anywhere near the same as it had been before, lazing, gazing up at the clouds between missions.

Still, he went back to Kiba's house every night, in the hopes that it would somehow make it better.

* * *

XII

* * *

Kiba could still hear Shikamaru. Every night Shikamaru would call Temari's name over and over again and when it became unbearable, Kiba would get up and stand outside Shikamaru's door listening. Just listening. That was their new routine, though Shikamaru knew nothing of it.

Kiba never stepped into Shikamaru's room.

And then, one night when Shikamaru's moans were beyond unbearable, driving him almost crazy, Kiba, standing outside Shikamaru's door, reached on hand into his pants and jerked off to the sounds.

Dick hard and heavy in his hand, he stoked up, down, tighter, twisting, dipping his thumb into the slit before sliding the drips of precome at his head down his dick to thrust smoothly into his hand. Heat blossomed in the pit of his stomach before he spurted hot, wet come all over his hand and in his boxers, muffling any noise he made with his shirt and his free hand over his mouth.

He hurried away, his cooling release sticky and wet on his hand and in his boxers, an unneeded reminder of what he had just done, the shame already growing stronger in his mind.

And then, as he came back from the bathroom, muffled by the door and the distance, Shikamaru said Kiba's name.

It was the same thing over again, Kiba realized, as he burst into Shikamaru's room.

He was awake, head propped up on one arm to look at him.

"I'm sorry." Kiba wasn't sure who said it, but it didn't matter anymore when their lips crashed together again. He didn't know who initiated it, but that didn't matter either, as Shikamaru's tongue explored Kiba's mouth, leaving sensations behind that couldn't be explained solely by one kiss.

Shikamaru's expression changed into something that, despite recognizing it, Kiba couldn't read.

"I'm sorry," Shikamaru said lowly. "I…I didn't mean…"

Kiba almost didn't hear him with the blood pounding in his ears, but he caught the last words.

"…She's here, in here." Shikamaru tapped his skull "And I can't…I can't let her go."

"It's okay," Kiba said quietly. "It's okay."

* * *

XIII

* * *

Kiba woke to Shikamaru's breath on his neck and bright sunlight. Shikamaru was still sleeping, the first time since Temari's death that he had slept this long.

They hadn't done anything more than kiss last night, but perhaps, just perhaps, it had been enough. Enough to sat Kiba some, enough to make him believe that maybe he had a chance, enough to relieve some of what Shikamaru was feeling.

Or so he thought, at least until Shikamaru woke up, whispering something under his breath, presumably to Temari.

Kiba didn't really understand what Shikamaru said about Temari being in his head. He'd heard of ghosts before—who hadn't heard of the vengeful _yūrei_, who came back from death, usually to exact vengeance on the one responsible for their death?—but they were fairy tales. No one believed for a moment that any of them were true, save for his four-year old self when Hana had told him of the vengeful _onryou_, who came back from the first layer of hell, the warrior ghosts, who died in battle and came back to help their allies fight with such ferocity that even the bravest of warriors had been known to flee, and the _zashiki-warashi_, the mischievous children ghosts, who were rarely dangerous despite their many pranks. But those were stories, just stories to scare children. He'd never heard of one actually haunting someone, much less in their head.

But even despite the explanation, Kiba couldn't help that twinge of jealousy he felt every time Shikamaru called Temari's name, _yūrei_ or not. He knew that her and Shikamaru had been together—and judging from the sounds Shikamaru made, "together" in more ways than one—and that Shikamaru couldn't be expected to give that all up so quickly to be with him, but he couldn't help how he felt, even when his conscience constantly reminded him that it was selfish.

* * *

XIV

* * *

As Shikamaru made his way through the shadows to Nara Forest, he couldn't help but feel like he'd agreed to give this thing with Kiba—whatever it was—a go. And for some reason, that didn't bother him so much as it should've had. What did bother him was turning his back on Temari. After the two years they'd been together—and even longer that they'd liked each other—as soon as she died he was just able to move on like that?

And how had he never known that he was gay?

"I'm not a guy." Temari's image appeared next to him, a materialization as opposed to merely a voice in his head.

"I know." Oh, he knew her gender _very_ well.

"Then you know you're not gay."

She raised a valid point. He corrected his previous thought.

Her tone changed, becoming lower, more serious. "Shikamaru…you know I'm not supposed to be here, right?"

Despite her never having said that, he suspected that he'd always known this.

"We're…I'm supposed to go on now. I never was supposed to stay."

"Why did you?"

"Shikamaru…you know why. But now…now I need to go on. This place isn't for me anymore. If I stay here any longer I'm going to be _yūrei_." She spread her arms, presenting herself for Shikamaru.

She was indeed becoming _yūrei_, if the old legends were anything to go by. She had never actually materialized before, though her image was pale, almost invisible, as if not fully formed. She wore a white kimono that seemed to go on forever, and her blond hair hung loose, reaching down far further than it ever had when she lived.

_Then why don't you go?_ Shikamaru wanted to ask. But the words wouldn't make it past his mouth, and, even worse, he found that he had already known the answer.

"I can't go now unless you let me go, Shikamaru."

He stumbled blindly into the herd's clearing and collapsed. He didn't black out this time, but somehow, all the feeling in his legs, in his _heart_ went away with those words, leaving a gaping black hole.

One of the deer, a female almost as old as he was, stepped curiously over to him, snuffling curiously at his clothing.

"It's fine. That's just Akamaru. He's not here," he assured her.

She grunted softly, as if acknowledging this, and went back to grazing, as if Shikamaru had never disturbed her. The rest of the herd followed suit.

Shikamaru didn't like disturbing them—he came there often, but never had he been so disruptive as he had been today, save for perhaps when Ino had chased him into the forest, yelling bloody murder, but that had been way too troublesome to repeat the experience.

But Temari's statement had taken it all out of him, and he couldn't bring himself to move even an inch.

So there he lay, the soft grass and leaves tickling his neck as the sun rose to its peak and began its journey into sleep again. He stayed like that, still, unmoving, as the herd moved on and Kiba found him, so many hours later, when the moon was full and hanging low in the sky.

"Shikamaru?"

"What are you doing here?" His voice cracked slightly at first.

Kiba looked awkward. "I thought…maybe you left. 'Cause of last night or something."

Shikamaru shook his head, pushing himself up a fraction. "It wasn't that."

Kiba still looked fidgety; something was still bothering him.

"I'm sorry 'bout…" he stopped and tried again. "I know it's kinda soon and all and you're not ready. I'm sorry for in—" he squinted, trying to remember the word. "—inflicting myself on you. But," he looked Shikamaru in the eye, as if daring him to challenge what came next. "But when you are ready, I'm here. If you want."

Shikamaru stood up slowly and grabbed Kiba's shoulders, kissing him fleetingly. _Thank you._

* * *

XV

* * *

Kiba was glad that Shikamaru had agreed to give things a go between them. But still, it wasn't perfect. Sometimes his eyes went distant, as if he was looking at someone far away that Kiba couldn't see, and though he always seemed to know who he was with, sometimes it was obvious that there was someone else there too. But he didn't know how to help Shikamaru get rid of it, so all he could do was watch, and hope that Shikamaru would come back to him.

He always did eventually, but these Temari interludes just got harder and harder to watch. But Kiba sort accepted that Shikamaru wasn't quite ready to let her go. Or he understood it, at least. It didn't make it hurt any less.

And then, one evening while Hana was still out, Shikamaru backed him roughly into a wall and kissed him with more ferocity than Kiba had ever seen on him.

"Shikamaru…" Kiba said when they broke for air, "is this you…?" _Or Temari? _Because Shikamaru had done some amazing things to him when Temari was around. He liked every bit of it but hated that it was Temari, not Shikamaru.

Shikamaru looked him in the eye. "I'm letting her go."

And he kissed him again and this time Kiba surrendered himself to the kiss, to the pleasure racking up and down his body, to Shikamaru's fingers reaching lower, to Kiba's fast-growing erection, and he needed more, more, as he rutted into Shikamaru's hand, the feeling diminished only slightly by the clothing layers in the way of hand and dick.

And then Shikamaru finally touched him, and one, two, three strokes, and it was like how he stood outside Shikamaru's door and wanked except it was Shikamaru's hand on his dick, and Shikamaru's warm body pressing against him and suddenly he was coming, coming harder than he'd ever before.

"You were waiting for this." Shikamaru sounded floaty, or that could just be Kiba's mind, floaty after that magnificent orgasm.

Kiba didn't answer. What could he say to that?

His legs still felt like jelly but he managed to guide them to Shikamaru's room, though he suspected that Shikamaru did more of the guiding than he did. His cock throbbed bravely as the passed over the threshold past the spot where he had stood that night, and then they were sort of half-on, half-off the bed, Shikamaru underneath him, kissing.

Kiba was getting hard again, and he realized that Shikamaru was, too; he remembered that he hadn't reciprocated the gesture. He reached between them but Shikamaru shook his head.

"Fuck me."

If Kiba hadn't come scarcely five minutes previously, he would've with those words. As it was, his erection was suddenly harder than it had been before he'd come, if that was even possible.

But he held back. "You sure?"

Shikamaru nodded once.

Kiba unzipped his pants, pushing them awkwardly down by his ankles; Shikamaru did likewise.

Kiba, forgetting that this wasn't his room, reached for his lube stash. It, of course, was empty. He looked pleadingly at Shikamaru, then pulled up his boxers, discarding his pants completely, and hurried down the hall to his room for the lube as fast as he could with a boner.

Shikamaru was waiting, stripped of all clothing. Kiba's mouth dropped open and stayed there, and his erection, which had flagged slightly during his rush for the lube, returned to its rock-hard state in a matter of seconds.

"On…" His voice didn't come out quite right; he cleared his throat and tried again. "On your knees."

Shikamaru obeyed, presenting his ass in the air and settling his weight on his elbows as Kiba settled behind him.

Very carefully, hands only shaking a little bit, he coated two of his fingers in the lubricant, and, without preamble, worked them into Shikamaru's ass, slicking him up. Shikamaru only flinched slightly—lubed fingers were always cold—and slowly leant back onto Kiba's fingers. Kiba gulped and wrapped the fingers of his free hand around the base of his erection, trying to stem off his imminent orgasm.

"Yeah," Shikamaru said, and Kiba scissored his fingers once and withdrew them.

He overspilt the lube onto his dick, tried to mop up the extra with his hand, and gave up, just making sure he was slicked up. He positioned the tip of his dick at Shikamaru's hole, resting there for a few moments before Shikamaru grunted something and Kiba pushed in. His eyes tunneled with the almost unbearable tightness.

* * *

XVI

* * *

The burn was exquisite, Kiba's dick stretching him far wider than his fingers had, for the short time they had been inside him.

Kiba held still, allowing Shikamaru to adjust, and then he pulled out almost fullway to push back in. He set up a rhythm, and the burn slowly faded into pleasure as Kiba hit a spot inside of him, either grazing it or hitting it full on every time.

He reached beneath himself, wrapping his fingers lightly around his dick, thrusting into his hand to pattern Kiba's.

It was silent, he realized. Silent save for the sounds of Kiba sliding in and out of him, of Kiba's hot breath on his neck, of his own breath coming hard and fast out of his own mouth. Or, not silent exactly, after all; there just wasn't the loud moans and calling of each other's names that there had been with Temari.

Temari…

His thoughts strayed back to her and he let out a shuddering breath.

And then Kiba drove hard once, twice, three times in a row into his prostate and his thoughts scattered far and wide, and he was unable to focus on anything but the pleasure coursing through him and Kiba pounding into his ass.

And then suddenly he was on the edge, without knowing exactly how he'd got there. The next realization was that he was stuck there, teetering on the brink of orgasm, almost, nearly there yet not close enough.

It was torture, being so close, but he couldn't come, not even with Kiba driving into his prostate with every thrust and his own hand on his cock.

And, as if conjured by his earlier thoughts, that almost too-familiar feeling of Temari's presence arrived, stilling his hand.

Kiba, somehow, noticed. "I'm not her, Shikamaru."

He pulled out and tugged at Shikamaru's hips, who finally understood he was to turn over. And then he re-entered him, still gripping his hips hard enough to bruise, continuing: "And I'm not gonna be her. She's gone, Shikamaru. You gotta let her go now.

Shikamaru closed his eyes, unwilling to look up into Kiba's face any longer. "I know." The words came out rougher than expected.

Kiba started to move again, slower and deeper this time, striking through his prostate with each thrust.

"_Shikamaru_."

He moaned, the sound drawn out by Kiba's efforts.

"_You heard him, Shikamaru. You said it yourself. You hafta let me go now."_

"C'mon, Shikamaru," Kiba grunted above him.

"_Let go._" Kiba reached down between them, wrapping his fingers over Shikamaru's around his cock, and that, combined with Kiba and Temari's voices together, finally sent him off the edge.

His balls tightened and stars sparked behind his eyelids seconds before his orgasm crashed over him, engulfing him in a white pleasure.

He opened his eyes weakly to see Kiba collapsed on top of him, face near his. Kiba cracked an eyelid, then closed it and kissed him instead.

Temari's presence was gone, as if she had never been in his mind; indeed, as if she had gone on the day she died, driven out by the warm, strong, alive presence still in him and on top of him.

And, he realized, she was truly gone.

Gone, like ashes blown away on the wind.


End file.
